He shook his head. “No, Alice is ridiculously closemouthed about your background. All she will ever say is that you are her goddaughter—though how that came about is still a mystery to me.” He eyed her speculatively and waited.
Lucy pressed her lips together and looked away. She wasn’t going to enlighten him. If Alice wanted to tell him, that was her right.
A burst of laughter floated out from the ballroom. Strangely, it emphasized their isolation. “You haven’t lived with your father for more than a few days at a time, have you? Not since your mother died.”
Lucy gave him a flat look. “So what if I have? What business is it of yours? Why are you so interested in my history?”
He frowned. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“Your father has been threatening Alice again. I’m trying to trace him.”
Lucy blanched. “Threatening her?”
He nodded. “I gather she didn’t tell you.”
“Not a word.” She felt sick. How dare Papa threaten Alice? She was doing all she could to help Lucy find a man she could happily marry.
She sank onto one of the chairs. As she had dreaded from the start, this latest scheme of Papa’s would result not just in her own mortification and ruin but in Alice’s as well.
And the terrible irony was that the very woman her father was blackmailing and threatening was trying to protect Lucy.
She took a deep breath and hoped her voice sounded calm. “What is he threatening her about?”
The furrow between Lord Thornton’s brows deepened. “About you, of course. He’s complaining that Alice isn’t doing what he asked—arranging your marriage to a member of the nobility. Apparently someone has been reporting back to him that you’ve only been seen accompanied by men with no title or any expectation of one.”
Her fingers turned into a fist. “I’ve told him and told him that I hate the very idea of marrying a lord!” She looked up at Lord Thornton and said bitterly, “Alice was sure that what my father really wanted was for me to be secure and settled happily, that the title didn’t really matter.”
She smacked her knee. “Like a fool I allowed her to persuade me. I should have known better. Papa is stubborn, and foolishly pretentious. Being related to a title obviously matters far more to him than my happiness.”
Lord Thornton said nothing.
Inside the ballroom the last strains of the waltz finished. Lucy rose, feeling weary and disheartened. “I have to go. My partner for the next dance will be looking for me.”
She took a few steps toward the terrace and the French doors leading into the ballroom, then turned back to face Lord Thornton. “There’s really no point in looking for my father. He’s as slippery as an eel. I’ve never known how to contact him, and you won’t be the only person trying to trace him, I’m sure. If you really want to help Alice and get Papa off her back, there’s only one thing you can do.”
“What’s that?”
“Find me a lord to marry. Any lord, I don’t care which. He can be a hundred years old, for all I care.”
His frown deepened. “But you said yourself that it was the last thing you wanted.”
“It is.”
“Then why would you do such a thing?”
She looked at him. “For Alice, of course. Why else? Alice is a darling, and I won’t let Papa ruin her.”
***
The orchestra played the introductory bars of the waltz. Gentlemen led their partners onto the dance floor. Lord Tarrant held out his hand—his bare hand. Unlike English gentlemen, Roman generals wore no gloves at a ball.
Neither did Egyptian queens.
His hand was big and warm and strong; hers felt cold. The sensation of skin against skin was thrilling. He held one of her hands in his and placed his other hand on the dip of her waist. She hesitated about where to place her hand and decided that the safest option was on his epaulettes, or whatever Romans called them.
The dance began, and he swept her into it with complete assurance. It was far from her first waltz, and though he was holding her with perfect propriety, he felt very close, much closer than she’d expected. All that bare masculine skin...
